Pretend No More
by stripper girl drunk
Summary: With the foreknowledge that she's going to eventually break her heart, Emma continues to use Regina, slowing realizing that the feelings she worked so hard to manufacture are suddenly quite real. Running will hurt Regina, and staying…well, staying could be the end of them both. SwanQueen.


**A/N: Okay! Welcome to my story. Yeah, author's notes. They're completely lame but sometimes necessary. In this case, I'd say they're needed. First thing you need to know is that this story will be SwanQueen. If you're not into that, hey that's totally cool, no problem—but you've been warned. Next on the agenda is this—there is no magic in this story. What it **_**will**_** contain is many characters struggling with who they are, and who they'll become. There are some very rough waters ahead, and if I'm being completely honest, some of you won't like Emma. She's had it rough, that hasn't changed, but it has most definitely changed **_**her. **_**She will grow, she will evolve, but it takes time. One last thing; Henry is Regina's legitimate son. Henry is going to play a large role in this story, because I really feel as though he brings out some of the good that is hidden deep within Emma's heart. So on and so forth. It's going to be slow to start, and slow to develop, but there will be SQ ahead, no matter how hopeless it seems. I think I've taken up enough of your time—read on, and I hope with all hope that you enjoy this story, and that it makes you feel…something. Anything. Also—in my haste, I posted under the wrong account, sorry about that! ONWARDS. **

The first time they met, the moment was fleeting, and soon forgotten by both parties involved. There was a flicker of acknowledgment, coupled with an overtone of irritation, and then the moment was over.

Emma Swan gently pressed the brake of her beaten down bug and slowed to a stop. Before her, looming not a foot away, stood a decision; she could pull forward and invite her past to come screaming back into her life, or she could back up and drive away, back to a life she wasn't sure she wanted. The sign to Storybrooke was inviting, she could admit that much. The white sign and fancy script suggested that this town was home material, a town to settle down and create a life in.

_Family. A home. Why the hell am I thinking about these things now? _She scoffed lightly and wiped her clammy hands on her jeans. When _had_ she started sweating, exactly, and why?

_Stop making a big deal out of nothing. Drive forward, say your hellos, and drive away. Easy, and something you have experience with. _

Rolling her eyes, she gripped the steering wheel tightly and placed her foot on the gas. She could do this. There was nothing to it.

A moment later, the sign announcing that she was welcome was soon a tiny spec in her side mirror, and the actual town of Storybrooke began to emerge. The town was quaint, and she saw instantly how Mary Margaret could easily fall in love with the place. Well paved roads, a streetlight at every corner, and beautiful houses created in cookie cutter fashion. Yes, this place was everything she resented in life, because it was a reminder of what she grew up with and continued to have; _nothing._ But she'd never complain. Everyone was dealt different hands in life, and sure, hers was shitty, but someone, somewhere, was worse off. Or so she told herself. Snapping out of her reverie, she paused to remember what prompted her trip, and why it was proving to be so damn difficult.

The email from her friend had come seemingly out of nowhere, and she was surprised at the wave of happiness that hit her upon opening it. She hadn't felt that in a long time, and she had needed a minute to process.

The email was relatively short and very simple; how was she doing, how was work, and was she up for a visit to Storybrooke. The last time they had seen each other, Mary Margaret was graduating from college, and Emma was dropping out. They remained friends ever since, as roommate friendship is hard to break, and continued to correspond with sporadic emails. Mary Margaret went off to build a life with a real career in mind, and Emma went out in search of fun.

Gazing now at the beautiful houses—no. These were most definitely _homes_, not houses. Gazing at the homes lined up in perfect rows, she could see that Mary Margaret had found her niche in the world, and Emma found herself happy for her friend. _She deserves this; she worked hard, and now she—what in the goddamn fuck!_

In the middle of her musing she had neglected to watch the road, and nearly sideswiped a car that had pulled out in front of her. She growled loudly, silently cursing the asshole that cut her off. Her car groaned in protest as she skidded to a stop, and finally stalled out. _Awesome. Thanks a lot, you shitty…Mercedes Benz? Wow. Good thing we didn't collide. And let's see the douchebag who's driving…and the winner is…a chick? _

Though she could barely make out facial features, the driver of the car was undoubtedly female. The last thing she saw as the car took the corner sharply was long brown hair on the driver, and just the top of the passenger's head.

She turned the key and almost cheered as the engine turned over and the car stuttered to a start. The bug was old, yes, but reliable. Pulling away, she noticed how close she was to her destination. Getting her bearings together, she stopped to take in her surroundings. Based on the directions she had been given, she was close—just a house away, if she wasn't mistaken.

_Okay, Swan. Just pull forward—stop being a coward._

As Emma began to pull forward, a door of one of the houses in the distance opened, and a figure came out. Emma squinted her eyes, and grinned when she realized it was in fact her old roommate. Though her hair was different, it was most definitely Mary Margaret, and judging by her reaction, she knew it was Emma. Waving as though her life depended on it and wearing a smile that was impossibly large, she was clearly excited at the arrival of the blonde.

Emma raised a hand off of the steering wheel in acknowledgement, and pulled into an empty space. Take a deep breath, exhale, and step out of the car. No problem, step out of the car and

"—oof!"

Delicate arms wrapped around her waist tightly, conveying need, and if Emma wasn't mistaken, conveying…well, love. How long had it been since she was embraced in such a way? How long had it been since she had felt such an emotion emanating from a person, and when was the last time it was _directed at her_.

"Emma! It's been so long, I can't believe you're actually here, I mean I know I sent the email, but I didn't think—oh! I'm so sorry!"

Mary Margaret dropped her arms instantly and backed up, memories of Emma's no hugging rule coming to mind. Emma smiled crookedly and placed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans.

"Hey—no. No worries. It's great to see you, M&M. The hair looks great."

Mary Margaret lifted a hand to her hair self-consciously and smiled.

"Thank you. It was time for a change." The two stared at each other to a point where it was becoming uncomfortable, but Mary Margaret spoke before it could happen.

"So! Let's get your stuff and get you settled in."

Emma shook her head. She really needed to stop zoning out, or the brunette was liable to think that she was on drugs. As Emma stepped forward to unlock the trunk, a feeling of dread rushed through her. She lived mostly out of her car, and therefore carried all of her belongings with her—which amounted to a Spartan like lifestyle. She had no personal gifts from friends, no items which held memories of better times; for Emma Swan, there _were_ no better times—just a constant state of existing. How would Mary Margaret react to this?

Emma opened the trunk and motioned to the few items that were scattered about, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well. This is it."

Green eyes shot up to brown and studied them closely, searching for a change in demeanor, a flicker or otherwise. To Emma's surprise, Mary Margaret's face remained the same; happiness reigned on a completely open face, and there were no hints that she was anything other than excited.

"Okay, let's get you settled in. I'll carry the trunk, you carry the duffel bag?" Emma nodded and glanced down at the bag that had contained her whole life. She drifted easily back to the days of her childhood when she would pack everything away and take off from whatever crappy foster home she had been stuck in. Yeah, they had been through some heavy stuff together, and—

"Emma? Are you all right?"

"What? Yes. Sorry. The long drive has me a bit out of it."

Mary Margaret looked apologetic immediately. "Let's get you inside and settled. I'll put on some coffee and we can talk."

Emma smiled gratefully and followed her friend to the front door of the apartment. When the door opened and the inside was revealed, Emma knew she was correct in her assumption; this _was_ a home, in every sense of the word. Pictures on every wall, plants perfectly placed, knickknacks adorning the shelves; hell, even the furniture looked inviting.

Mary Margaret approached Emma and watched nervously as the blonde took in her new surroundings. "What do you think?" she began shyly. Emma, realizing her silence was unnerving her friend, broke into a large smile, hoping to put her at ease. "It's really nice. I think you did a great job decorating. This place just screams _you_." Mary Margaret broke into a laugh, any sense of her previous unease vanishing instantly.

"Thank you, Emma. That means a lot to me." She motioned to the table and chair in the dining room. "Why don't you get settled while I run your things to your room?"

How nice that sounded—'your room.' But she had heard that before, and it never seemed to end well. She'd had her hopes trampled numerous times before, and she promised herself it would never happen again.

"That'd be great. Thank you." Mary Margaret smiled once more before walking upstairs, leaving the blonde to her ragged and scattered thoughts. She sat down roughly, placing her forehead in her hands in an attempt to gather herself. What was she doing here, exactly? What was her goal? As someone who had never had a real home, she knew that a part of her always wanted to settle down; it was natural human instinct to find a place to live in which you felt safe, secure.

While lost in her own world, Emma failed to notice that her friend had returned, and was watching her with sympathetic eyes.

The brunette knew of Emma's past; the foster homes, the abuse she had endured, and her natural urge to flee. It had taken Mary Margaret a very long time to break down the blonde's walls, but when she did, she knew she had found something special. Emma was a beautiful, kind person, hiding behind a mask that would keep strangers out and herself safely hidden. Her walls were miles high and just as thick, letting nearly no one in. Mary Margaret was the exception, but it was not an easy task. After years of gentle prodding and open sincerity, the blonde began to share details about herself, details that no other person had been privy to. They grew close (as close as Emma would allow, really), and developed a solid friendship that lasted until Mary Margaret graduated, and Emma decided it was time to move on. Yes, they had kept in touch as time moved on as it tends to do, but she found herself missing the blonde's company very much. The crass remarks, the cynical attitude, the inadvertent humor; Mary Margaret missed all of it, and she had a feeling that her friend needed her now more than ever. Emma agreeing to visit her in Storybrooke was the first step, and getting her to stay…well, she'd approach that when the time came.

She watched Emma closely, wondering, but also somehow knowing, what it was that was tormenting her friend. She wanted to approach, but also wanted Emma to have this moment alone. This moment, this _private_ moment that wasn't meant for her eyes, showed Mary Margaret a great deal more about her friend than the blonde would ever be willing to tell. There was a weariness about her that had been growing steadily over the years, and had finally appeared to take its toll. The woman before her was weary; the constant running had begun to manifest physically in the form of slumped shoulders and a dimmer version of the fire that had once existed in her eyes.

Emma was silently calling for help, and Mary Margaret intended to respond.

She back tracked a few steps to make her appearance known, not wanting to knock Emma violently out of her reverie.

The blonde glanced behind her, eyebrows raised expectantly. She gave a tightlipped smile and turned back around. Mary Margaret sat down, her plan ready to be executed.

"Emma, I think—"

"Mary Margaret, listen."

Well, so much for that.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing here, but I'm sorry to put you in this position. I feel like I'm imposing, and if so, I can like leave…or whatever. There's gotta be a hotel or something close by."

And just like that, Mary Margaret's heart shattered.

She tried to keep the sadness out of her eyes, and instead let the sincerity shine through.

"Emma, never in a million years would you be imposing. I _invited_ you here. I _want_ you here. I know…I know it's a sensitive subject—but you are welcome here. I was thinking, in fact, if you're up for it, then maybe…maybe this could be a permanent arrangement."

There was a moment, a brief silence; and then slowly, an understanding. And just like that, a shimmer appeared in light green eyes, signaling that maybe, _just maybe_, not all of the light had departed.

"We can talk more about it later, but just know that you are welcome here, and can stay as long as you want."

Emma swallowed hard in an attempt to gather herself and her words. Fortunately, Mary Margaret moved on, realizing that Emma probably wasn't ready to respond just yet.

"So, tell me. What has the great Emma Swan been doing all this time?"

The blonde chuckled and ran her fingers through her long hair. How to respond to a question whose answer would further reinforce her nomadic lifestyle? She had done it all. A waitress in Kentucky, a bail bondsman in California, a mechanic in Rhode Island. The list went on and on, but instead she settled for simple.

"A bunch of things, really. This and that. I kept busy. What about you? I remember you were doing something with education." Mary Margaret let the conversation switch easily to herself as she knew that was all Emma was willing to share.

"Yes! I'm teaching a lovely group of fourth graders, and occasionally tutoring on the side." She stood up to prepare their coffee, the conversation now flowing easily.

"I was fortunate enough to find a job right here in Storybrooke, and I really can't imagine doing anything else. The children are wonderful, and –"

A loud chime sounded, and Mary Margaret looked apologetic as she went to retrieve her phone. Emma smiled and put a hand up to signal that it was fine. Emma found that her smile was quick to appear and slow to disappear; listening to Mary Margaret talk about her job with such happiness and excitement was contagious.

A light sigh was heard as Mary Margaret stopped typing and placed her phone on the table.

"Emma, I hate to do this to you, but I have an emergency tutoring session."

Emma couldn't help the look that crossed her face, or the snort of laughter that left her mouth. Mary Margaret stopped for a moment and then laughed right along with Emma when she realized how silly that must have sounded.

"Yes, laugh it up. I know how it sounds, but the mother is slightly overbearing, so almost everything is considered an emergency to her."

"What's her problem? She isn't one of those crazy moms who keeps their kid in a bubble, is she?"

The brunette smiled briefly and shook her head.

"She's—well, she's the Mayor, actually."

Emma's eyes widened at the mention of this. Of course Mary Margaret would be tutoring the Mayor's kid.

"That's impressive. How'd you land that gig?"

Mary Margaret ducked her head, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks.

"Well, as I'm sure you can guess, the Mayor is very particular about her son. I seem to be the only teacher that she trusts enough with Henry."

Emma noticed the change in her friend when the subject of the kid came up, and decided to call her on it.

"You must really like him, huh?"

"Henry is a very special boy; very intelligent, with an active imagination to match."

Emma rolled her eyes and smirked, causing Mary Margaret to wrinkle her nose in amusement.

"Sorry. Kids really aren't for me."

Before Mary Margaret could retort, her phone sounded once more, showcasing the Mayor's irritation.

"Okay, as you can tell, I should probably head out now. I won't be long; an hour at the most. Actually, how about you get settled in and rest a bit and then meet me at Granny's, a diner down the road, and we can have dinner. My treat."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good." Emma would have been lying if she said she hadn't been enjoying talking with the pixie haired woman, but she was also looking forward to a moment alone.

Mary Margaret stood up and turned to Emma, her expression growing serious.

"I know this is all very sudden, but I meant what I said; this can be your home, Emma."

Emma's mouth opened slightly, but since she didn't trust herself to speak, she settled for nodding.

Mary Margaret paused, seemingly debating with herself, before surging forward and placing a light kiss on the top of Emma's head.

Emma groaned good-naturedly and pushed the brunette lightly.

"Ugh, you're such a mom. Get going before you're late."

Mary Margaret grabbed her purse and headed outside, calling back one last time before the door closed. "Don't forget, Granny's in one hour!"

Emma tried to be irritated, but failed miserably. She took in the silence, sipping coffee and enjoying the moment. There was only the ticking of the clock and the sound of an occasional car passing by, but aside from that, nothing. This definitely wasn't the city, and that was becoming more apparent the longer she sat, absorbing the lack of commotion around her.

Surprised by the appearance of a yawn, she stood up and rinsed out her coffee cup and headed upstairs. She passed a room with the door slightly ajar and glanced in, realizing that this was Mary Margaret's room. So that would mean that the room in front of her…well, it must be hers.

She clenched and unclenched her hands before mentally scolding herself for looking and acting foolish. She placed a hand tentatively on the brass doorknob, squeezed, and turned lightly. As more of the room was revealed as the door opened wider, Emma's mouth seemed to open in turn.

The first thing to catch her eyes fell upon was the four post bed that seemed to go on for days. The second was the color scheme. Mary Margaret had remembered Emma's fondness for green and brown; earthy colors, she had always said, colors to keep you grounded. The bedspread was green, the pillows brown. The shag rug beneath her feet was a green so dark that it almost appeared to be brown.

It was apparent that Mary Margaret had done everything she could to make sure that the blonde felt at ease. Emma glanced around the room once more, and then shut the door behind her. It was when the door was shut and she was sitting comfortably on the bed that she had noticed the final touch. Strung on the back of the door was a sight that drew all air from her lungs, and caused a slight sting in her eyes that she had not experienced in a long time.

Emma's breath caught in her throat as she drifted closer to the object, possessed by the will of another. When she was mere inches away, she allowed her feelings the chance to be vocalized by laugh that sounded half sob.

There, strewn perfectly before her, was a painting that had given her solace on many lonely nights. Her fingers reached out in trepidation and lightly touched the surface. 'Nighthawks' was a painting that had always evoked emotion from the usually stoic blonde, when almost nothing else could. Gazing upon it now, she was transported back to a time when she felt something real. The picture remained a carbon copy of what existed in her mind, and that fact alone made her smile.

The woman in the red dress with the disinterested look on her face, the man in the hat who appeared as though he was miles away in thought, and finally the café attendant and the man sitting away from the other patrons. The portrait reflected sadness, no doubt about that, but it was the aspect of loneliness that always tugged uncomfortably at her chest. All of these people so close together, and yet, at the same time, so far apart.

She could relate.

Just knowing that Mary Margaret remembered all of these things about her, all of the small details about herself that she had mentioned offhandedly—it was a testament to how much she cared.

Emma backed up slowly, keeping her eyes on the painting and a ghost of a smile on her face. When the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, she laid back contentedly, her eyes taking in the rest of the room. A nightstand complete with an alarm clock and lamp, and taped to the base of the lamp, a small piece of paper. Emma's eyebrows pinched together in confusion. She leaned closer and saw her name written in tiny, neat letters. She grabbed the folded piece of paper and opened it hurriedly. Maybe Mary Margaret had known that, in the end, she really didn't want Emma to stay. Maybe this was the best way to break the news to her, so she didn't have to witness firsthand the knowing look in Emma's eyes when she told her to leave. Not allowing herself the chance to throw the paper and run, she opened it right away and scanned it closely.

If Emma was a crying type of person, this is when it would have happened. The floodgates would open and the tears would cascade down her face, showing no sign of stopping. She'd give in to the weeping, her abdominals clenching in agony as she was wracked so violently by emotion that it began to hurt.

If she could.

If she was able.

But she wasn't.

Instead of breaking down, she began to breathe airily, a strange sound emitting from the back of her throat.

"This is your home now, if you want it to be. I know things have been tough for you, but please believe me when I say that I'll be there for you when you need me, Emma. Remember—family doesn't always have to share blood." – MM

Emma held the small piece of paper to her chest, and let herself be overtaken by the comfort of the bed. As her eyes began to slowly shut, her grip on the paper loosened, but it remained glued between her hands. In that moment, Emma felt wanted, needed. She felt as though she had finally found the one thing that had always eluded her, and one last fleeting though hit her as she drifted towards sleep.

_This…could be it. This…I think it could be home. _

**Yeah, wow. Emma has had a tough life, and she's still quite obviously dealing with some pretty intense abandonment issues. There was a quick glimpse of Regina, and a ton of M&M. I'm sure you all realize that she's going to be a pretty big player, and will serve partly as Emma's conscience throughout this whole mess. In regards to 'Nighthawks'—no, I am the furthest thing from an art connoisseur that you will ever find, but I think the painting is hauntingly beautiful. Go take a look, and experience for yourself what Emma felt. If you've made it this far, let me give you my thanks; I really hope you liked what you read. If you have anything to say, please don't hesitate to leave a review; what you liked, what you didn't like. You name it, I'll probably answer back as best I can. The next chapter is going to have more Regina, some Henry, and a few other people that you all know so well. Once again, thank you, and take care! **

\


End file.
